Fire and Ice
by jackwabbit
Summary: After Janet’s memorial, Daniel is most definitely NOT ok. SPOILERS for Heroes. Original Story is Ice, or chapter 2. Jack Daniel Friendship, Smarm.
1. Fire

**Fire And Ice  
**

Rated: PG-13 (adult themes, violence)

Category: H/C, Angst, Mild Daniel/Janet Inferred, Jack/Daniel Friendship, Smarm.

Season: Seven

Spoilers: Heroes

Summary: After Janet's memorial, Daniel is most definitely NOT ok.

Note: Original Story is Ice, or chapter 2. Also, catatonia has two forms-stupor and excitement. Interesting…

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**FIRE**

**---  
**

Daniel didn't remember the memorial. He didn't remember driving home.

He barely remembered the day and a half that had passed since. The blinking light on his answering machine told him a few people had called, but he knew he hadn't talked to anyone other than Jack, and that was only for a few minutes yesterday. He didn't think he had read, or watched TV, or done much of anything, but he wasn't sure.

In fact, he didn't remember a lot of things, and that was what ate him up inside like a consuming flame that started in his guts and rose all the way to the top of his head, constricting his chest and making it difficult to breathe. His vision would periodically fail him, too, and his world would become dark at the edges.

He felt like he would die, shattering into a thousand pieces, from the pressure of the heat inside.

He did remember watching her die. He remembered in full vivid color the lifelessness of her eyes. Scenes of her stillness and the raw, bleeding wound came to him when he was quiet, like phantoms from another world.

If he didn't stay busy, it was all he could see. He remembered every detail from that fateful trip to P3X-666. He didn't need a tape to give him an accurate picture of what had happened that day. He only had to close his eyes, and images came cascading through his consciousness like old photographs from a dropped box. Airman Wells. Janet, alive and vibrant, assessing her patient. Staff blasts. Their cover fire. Rolling Wells, with Janet every so gently but professionally holding the injured man's head. Janet. Starting treatment, encouraging the airman. Wells' tortured expression as he asked only to leave a message for his wife. More staff blasts, all around. And then Janet, once more. Cold and dead on the ground.

It was this last picture that haunted Daniel most. He couldn't get it out of his head. It had been several days since Janet had been killed, and things had been busy. Daniel had had to make decisions that he'd never wanted to make. He did feel good about his choices regarding the video footage of Janet's horrific death, but that didn't change the fact that she was gone. It didn't change the fact that while dealing with that nasty little NID stooge, Woolsey, was far from what Daniel considered a fun day, the patsy had kept Daniel's mind occupied and had given him a target to attack. It had been easier to be angry at Woolsey than to actually deal with the fact that Janet was gone. Woolsey had been a convenient target for Daniel's anger. Now that he was gone, Daniel was only angry with himself. He tortured himself with thoughts of how it should have been him, or that he should have seen it coming, or that if he hadn't agreed to let Wells put a message on tape, Janet would still be alive.

Now, sitting on his couch, alone, after the memorial, when things were supposed to go back to normal, Daniel felt that normalcy was as far out of his grasp as the moon. Farther, in fact. He could always borrow a ship to get to the moon.

Daniel was no stranger to grief. It had been a familiar housemate many times. The guilt, the anger, the unfairness, the 'if onlys' and the 'what ifs' he could handle. The pain nauseated him and sometimes he couldn't control the tremors and rough sobs that escaped his body, but he knew it was healthy to let his feelings out. He'd been here far too many times. It was awful, but he knew grief well enough to know how to deal with it, at least historically.

But this time was different.

And it was the not remembering that made it so hard.

Daniel remembered Janet fighting to save him from his radiation sickness. He hadn't lied to Brigman. He knew how hard the short doctor had worked on him. He knew she gave her all for her patients, never allowing anything to come between them and the best care possible. He'd seen it countless times since he returned to Earth after his ascension. Only a few months ago, Janet had compassionately patched up his many injuries after that little fiasco in Nicaragua. He remembered her gently cleaning his wounds, bandaging the little cuts, and calmly reassuring him before he was put under anesthesia to repair the bullet wound to his leg. Janet had made him feel safe.

These memories brought Daniel comfort now, but he knew there were so many more. He tried as hard as he could to remember more. They were there, just at the edge of his consciousness, but they wouldn't come to him. Almost everyone thought Daniel was one hundred percent true blue recovered from his memory loss after his return to Earth. Sure, Sam and Teal'c occasionally shot him an amused or questioning look when he said something not quite right or missed something that would have been obvious to him before, but most assumed he was back to normal. Jack suspected there was more missing than the archeologist let on, but even he thought Daniel was mostly ok. Daniel had them fooled, though, because he wasn't. Not by a long shot. Only Daniel knew that there were still some pretty big holes in his Swiss cheese brain. Odd little things, like whether he liked a certain kind of food, evaded him daily. Bigger things, reminiscent of his struggle to remember who the hell Cassie was, didn't come up often now, but still occasionally hit him hard.

This was one of those times. He knew he should have a thousand memories of Doctor Janet Fraiser, but they just wouldn't come to him. He wanted to comfort himself by remembering the good times: the laughter, the easy comradery, the times everyone had gotten together off base to celebrate a birthday or holiday. These things had to have happened, and Daniel knew in his heart that they had. He even had vague recollections of them, but specific memories eluded him. He could no more latch onto a happy memory then he could hold fog in his hands.

Daniel sat up from leaning back on his couch, placing his elbows on his knees. His fingers scrubbed roughly over his face and through his hair and he squeezed his temples hard, willing himself to just remember one detail more. His eyes clenched shut in concentration. He tried, hard, to come up with something. Anything. One little image or sound or smell that would capture Janet for him.

Nothing came.

Daniel sat that way for what seemed like forever, rocking back and forth slightly. Sometimes a thought would come to him and he would pull on it a little, like a thread, to try to get more of the memory to come back. Always, though, the thread unraveled and he was left with nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing but frustration.

And suddenly the flame inside consumed him. It became a roaring inferno, engulfing everything in its path.

Daniels hands released their death grip on his head and then returned to his skull, smacking into his temples with more force than was healthy. It hurt, but Daniel liked that. He wanted to feel something other than this grief and aggravation at not even fully knowing the one he was grieving.

His eyes opened, and his gaze landed on his long forgotten coffee mug on the table in front of him. In one fluid motion that would have made an Olympian proud, Daniel stood, snatched up the mug in one hand, and kicked over the table. His momentum carried him forward only a half step before his body spun around and his arm sent the full cup flying into the kitchen. It seemed to spin in slow motion for a second, coffee spraying through the air, before smashing into the wall and falling to the floor in a hundred tiny pieces.

As the coffee leaked onto the floor, Daniel was just getting started. His vision blurred to a haze, and all of this mental faculties left him. He was no longer an educated archeologist who cared about things like vases and art and symbols of status. He was merely a vessel for the all consuming rage within him.

The next thing to go were the pictures. Every photograph was either flung to the floor, broken, turned down, or, if it was unlucky enough to be loose, torn into tiny pieces. Daniel couldn't bear to look at the faces of his friends now. He knew there was so much more to them than he could remember, and it was like a Claymore went off in his soul every time he had to look at them and be reminded of his inadequacy.

After the pictures, Daniel turned to his bookshelves. He was so angry that he just had to hit something. Anything. He struck the side of one case repeatedly with his first, not noticing the blood from split knuckles coating the wood and only stopping when his ears registered a sharp cracking thunk. The wood had cracked. It didn't matter. There were plenty of other things in the house he could punish.

Books were pulled off their shelves and thrown around the room. Decorations were ripped off the walls. Some things broke, while others escaped without permanent harm. Daniel didn't notice in either case. His heart was threatening to rip its way out of his chest. He was an unseeing overdose of emotion. Tears streamed down his face, and a terrifying type of laughter escaped his throat in sporadic bursts. Time lost all meaning.

There was no way for Daniel to know how long he was like that, but as suddenly as it had started, the fit stopped. Daniel froze, straddling a box of papers and photos that was now in the middle of his living room floor, next to the overturned table. His eyes still didn't take in the devastation around him. His muscular arm was pulled back in mid strike, aiming a punch at the offending box, but the blow never connected.

Daniel looked like a sculpture, frozen in time. For the space of a few heartbeats, there was complete and utter silence in the house. Then Daniel's arms began to tremble, and he collapsed to the floor, deflating in an instant. A second after his body hit the floor, several ragged breaths could be heard. They grew into full body sobs, and the broken man on the floor curled into a fetal position involuntarily, surrounded by his once precious but now unnoticed possessions.

If Daniel had been able to, he would have laughed at the irony of what had stopped his tantrum, but he was unable to feel anything other than raw pain. The anger was still there, but the memory that had abruptly solidified in his fury-soaked brain had stopped him dead in his tracks, replacing everything else with a grief so profound it threatened to tear him apart from the inside out.

XXX

He'd been watching Cassie one night for Janet. Long after the alien girl was in bed, Janet had returned from an emergency trip to the SGC, tired and hungry. Delivery had seemed like a good idea, and after the pizza came, Daniel and Janet had enjoyed a meal in companionable silence.

When the dinner was over, Janet had sighed contently. "That really hit the spot. Man, do I hate these long nights. It's so late when I get home, but I still need a little downtime to relax before turning in."

Daniel had suggested that they watch a movie to unwind. It wasn't that late, and he'd just started a video when Janet had come home. He hadn't been in any hurry to return to his empty house anyway.

Janet had looked at Daniel in surprise, but she'd accepted his offer. "Sure. Why not? Stick around. I could use the company. Be right back."

Fraiser had then slipped off to her bedroom, returning in comfortable sweats and a large tee-shirt. Daniel remembered thinking that he was glad she could feel comfortable enough around him to dress that way.

The rest of the evening was a blur. The friends had watched some average movie with an average plot, and Daniel didn't feel cheated by not remembering it.

The whole night had been rather average, really, with the exception that Daniel was pretty sure he and Janet had sat a little closer together on the couch than was necessary sometimes.

That is, it had been average until the movie was over, and Daniel prepared to leave. The heavy weight of a drowsy but not quite sleeping human head on his shoulder slowed his progress, and as Janet registered his movement, a soft breath whispered in his ear.

"Just stay, Daniel. Sleep. Here."

He'd wanted to. He really had. He'd been sleepy himself, and had wanted nothing more than to stretch out on the couch and succumb to slumber next to his friend, but he'd been scared. He hadn't known if the night was just a case of two lonely friends merely taking comfort in each other's company, or something more, and it had made him nervous.

He'd said the only thing that came to mind.

"But what about Cassie?"

Janet's motherly side had kicked in then, and she'd become mostly awake in an instant.

"You're right. It would look bad. I'm sorry. You should go."

"No, no. It's ok. I understand. I'll just get my coat."

Daniel had stood then, and collected his things. After slipping on his shoes, he made his way to the door, pulling his jacket over his shoulders as he went. Janet followed him.

"Be careful driving home. It's late."

"I will. See you tomorrow, Doc."

Daniel had hugged Janet good night then, and that was all that had been supposed to happen, but somehow his hug turned into a longer than friendly embrace, and as he held the small woman in front of him, Daniel couldn't help but drop a light kiss onto the top of her head.

"Good night, Janet. Thanks for a nice night."

As he loosened his arms, Janet had looked up at Daniel for a moment, uncertainly in her eyes. Her head dipped a little, then raised toward his. She stood on her tiptoes briefly, and it looked like she was going to kiss him full on the lips for a second. At the last instant, her head moved sideways and her chaste kiss landed on the corner of Daniel's mouth.

"Night Daniel. Thanks back."

Daniel had let go of Janet then and stepped backwards. His hands had lingered ever so briefly on her shoulders, though, and before he turned to leave, one had raised up slightly and given the tiny woman the lightest caress along one cheek.

XXX

That was all he had. An evening, two friendly kisses, and a tender moment that could have been so much more. Daniel didn't know when it had occurred exactly. He didn't know if anything like it had ever occurred again, or if Janet Fraiser had ever been more than a friend to him.

The fact that he would never know that now and the pain of his loss overwhelmed him.

He just wanted it to stop.

He hadn't been wounded, unfortunately, on P3X-666. If he had and there had been any pain pills in the house, he would have taken as many as it took to numb himself. As it stood, he saw only one option.

He hadn't thought about it in a long time, at least not when he was in full possession of his faculties, but he'd thought about it more than once in his life, when he'd been walking a dark path. He did have it in him to be a bit self-destructive, contrary to popular belief.

As the sobs wracking his body slowly subsided into a type of physical exhaustion, Daniel slowly uncurled himself and shakily crawled a few feet, then stood and made his way into the kitchen. While most people tossed their keys and spare change on their entry tables, and Daniel was no exception, Daniel's gun usually sat there, too. He didn't bother to lock it up most of the time since he lived alone. For a long time, he hadn't taken it home with him or even considered having it with him when he wasn't on missions, but things had changed over the years. He'd become more paranoid, and it gave him some comfort to know the gun was there in case he needed it.

When he reached the table, Daniel picked up the heavy case and hefted it a few times in his hands. It amazed him that something so small could be so deadly. Without any thought, he unzipped the carrying case and just looked at the gun in his hand for a long time. Slowly, with no effort on his part, Daniel's feet carried him the rest of the way into his kitchen, where he set the gun on the counter. He continued to just look at it, marveling at its simplicity. His clinical brain began to lose itself in convoluted histories of weapons in ancient cultures, and the distraction numbed his pain a little. The sharp knife that had been twisting in his gut became a dull ache, and he began to somehow feel a little better.

As always, if he stayed busy, he could forget.

But not for long. As his mind wandered, it eventually came back to why he was looking at the gun in the first place, and the familiar rage began to build inside of him again. He was angry at himself for not even being able to kill himself properly. For being a coward and chickening out. For getting distracted, like he had on P3X-666, and paying the price yet again.

As the rage and guilt took hold again, Daniel's stomach decided it had had enough of this level of emotion. Nausea gripped the archeologist and doubled him over in gut-wrenching heaves. Daniel stumbled away from the counter to vomit, but nothing came up. His abdomen continued to contract, though, and Daniel knew it was only a matter of time before he really made a mess.

He stumbled to the bathroom and knelt in front of the toilet. Daniel had barely made it to the porcelain bowl before what little he'd been able to eat in the last few hours, bile, stomach acids, and saliva spewed out of his mouth violently.

When Daniel's stomach was empty, he dry heaved for a few minutes before finally willing himself to settle down. He was mentally and physically exhausted, and he realized with a shiver that he was freezing. He tended to get cold when he was upset. Late afternoon sunlight was slanting into the room from the small window above the shower and Daniel realized it must be almost dusk. Outside, a beautiful Colorado summer's night was beginning, but none of that beauty reached inside the house. Daniel sighed, and did the only thing he could think of to do. He reached one hand over to the tub, behind the shower curtain, and turned on the hot water for a shower. Maybe that would make him feel better, and then he could just turn in early and try to sleep some of his pain away.

Daniel undressed wearily as the steam from the shower started to fill the room.

He was so tired, he didn't feel much of anything as he stepped into the hot shower. The water felt good on his skin, and slowly Daniel felt relaxation begin to creep into his body. He leaned forward on the wall of the shower letting the steaming water hit him in the back, loosening knots in his muscles and calming his inner turmoil. His eyes were closed and for just a second, his world seemed to have at least a tiny bit of peace in it. After a few minutes of pure self-indulgent warm water massage, Daniel opened his eyes and turned around to actually wash up.

As he grabbed the soap and washcloth off the small rack in the shower, Daniel caught a glimpse of his own hand, and suddenly his world was moving in slow motion. Daniel's head cocked sideways, and a puzzled expression claimed his features. His mind registered one thought before his hand started to tremble. 'Not again', he thought, with a growing sense of dread.

While Daniel's eyes acknowledged the blood all over his hands, his brain could not register that it was his own.

It had to be Janet's. He hadn't been injured on the planet, and the last few hours were nothing but a blur to Daniel. There was no reason for his hands to be bleeding as far as he was concerned. Somehow, his frazzled brain said, he must still have Janet's blood on him. There was no other reason for him to be bloody.

In his mind, Daniel was instantly kneeling in a field on a planet far from home, crying for help that wasn't coming. The images that he'd fought so hard to keep at bay for the last few days came complete with sounds now. Daniel was literally back on that planet. It wasn't like he was watching a movie.

He was _there._

The entire scene, from finding Airman Wells to crying for help over Janet's dead body, played itself out in Daniel's mind, three times, while the hot water poured over his body, before he suddenly blinked and shook his head. He looked around like he didn't know where he was and, in fact, it did take him a moment to realize he was in his own shower, in his own house, on Earth. When he figured out where he was, he frantically resumed his shower, trying desperately to get all the blood off his hands and body.

He couldn't get it off. No matter how hard he tried, it just kept coming. Daniel scrubbed and scrubbed, trying to make sense of why there was so much blood. He still couldn't feel his own wounds, and it was almost as if somehow he could scrub away his loss if only he just kept at it long enough.

Daniel washed his hair four times. He scrubbed his body mercilessly with the washcloth as least a half dozen times. His hands and face were viciously soaped, rubbed, and rinsed innumerable times.

Nothing helped.

It still hurt. He still couldn't stop the sense of loss: the pain, the guilt, and the anger refused to leave him alone.

Finally, as the last rays of daylight found their way into the dim room, Daniel gave up. He sat on the floor of the tub, and gave into his grief again. Tears flowed freely from his eyes, and he hugged himself tightly, rocking just a little in an attempt to comfort himself.

It didn't help, either. The pain was just too great. Daniel couldn't be comforted.

The light from outside gradually vanished, plunging the house into darkness. The water slowly ran from hot to warm to cold, but the trembling man didn't notice. He just sat, while oblivion mercifully took hold of Daniel Jackson and welcomed him with open arms into the unfeeling void of complete shutdown.

Catatonia had its advantages.


	2. Ice

**Fire And Ice, Part Two**

Rated: PG-13

Note: Take it was you will. Meant to be 'friendship plus', but could be perceived as slash.

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**ICE**

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**

It had been almost two days since the memorial.

No one had seen or heard anything from Daniel, and Jack was getting worried.

For thirty-six long tortured hours, after getting the brush off when he called to check on his friend, Colonel Jack O'Neill had been debating whether he should go find him. Jack was worried, but Daniel had always been so solid in the past (provided he was free from any psychotropic substances) that Jack thought he would just give Daniel some time to sort out his feelings.

Besides, O'Neill wasn't very good at emotional stuff, and ever since the whole 'ascension' debacle, the two men had drifted a little apart. The death of your dearest friend can cause some issues. Jack's soul had been shredded by Daniel's death, but he'd still had a job to do. He'd struggled privately with his actions and his grief for a long time, but eventually he'd learned to move on with his friend mostly absent from his life. To have Daniel return, a changed being with a leaky memory…it was hard. It had been almost a year since Daniel had re-entered Jack's life, but things were still a little odd between them.

Now, though, nursing a tall whiskey on the rocks, Jack decided he'd had enough. It'd been too long. He needed to make sure Daniel was ok. He picked up the phone and dialed without thought.

His own mind chastised him. 'You're drunk dialing, O'Neill…never a good idea…'

The phone connected, and Jack listened as the ring tone repeated itself four times before an answering machine picked up. As he heard his friend's voice, Jack's hand began to tremble slightly, and then he slammed down the phone, hard, becoming angry with himself. His conscience whispered insistently at him. 'What are you thinking, O'Neill? You need to go find Daniel. He wouldn't leave you alone at a time like this…'

It was right. Jack couldn't sit any longer. He had to be sure Daniel was ok.

The Colonel stood, weaving slightly. "I must be drunker than I thought," murmured a voice that Jack almost didn't recognize as his own.

After he got his balance, Jack made another phone call and somehow managed to get dressed.

When a cab arrived a few minutes later, the driver didn't have to honk. His passenger waited at the curb, and wasted no time with formalities as he climbed into the back seat. Brief directions were given, and the black car sped away into the night.

XXX

Twenty minutes later, a tall, grey-haired Air Force officer stood on a porch, his hand poised to knock on the door in front of him. After a moment's hesitation, the hand did knock, loudly.

No answer came from inside the house.

The Colonel tried again.

Still nothing.

Daniel's car was in the drive. He should've answered. Granted, it was almost midnight…maybe Daniel was asleep…maybe he just hadn't heard…but Jack wasn't buying it.

Something told Jack he needed to go inside. He pulled his wallet from the pocket of his weathered jeans and opened it. Inside, he found an extra key Daniel had given him in case of emergencies. He retrieved it, and unlocked the door.

As he made his way inside the house, Jack noticed that no lights were on. Anywhere.

It was completely dark.

"Daniel?" Jack experimentally called out in the darkness.

No answer.

Jack fumbled around for a bit, but finally managed to find a light switch near the door. He flipped it on.

The sight that greeted his now-seeing eyes terrified Jack O'Neill. He'd never seen Daniel's place in anything other than pristine condition. That was mostly because Daniel spent so little time at home rather than because of an inherent neatness, but none of that mattered at the moment.

It didn't matter because right now it looked like someone had been conducting naquadah experiments in Daniel's living room. The archeologist's precious books were scattered everywhere, pages torn in places. Papers littered the floor like confetti. A shattered coffee cup was laying near the wall of the kitchen, leaking its long cold contents on the floor.

The coffee table was overturned. Picture frames were turned down. Nothing was on the walls. Every piece of artwork that had once decorated the space was on the floor.

Jack stood in the doorway for what felt like an eternity, taking in the scene. His eyes slowly roamed over every detail, until one horrifying sight brought him out of his trance.

Daniel's sidearm.

Looking out of place in its neatness. Sitting perfectly straight on the kitchen counter. Dead center. Nothing around it. No clutter, no mess. Just the gun-perfectly clean, silent, and deadly.

If Jack had been terrified before, he was panicked now. Adrenaline flooded his system, making him stone cold sober in an instant, and spurring his body to action. He tore into the house like a man on fire.

"DANIEL!"

Still nothing. Jack ran into the kitchen, dreading what he might find on the floor.

Nothing. Thank God.

As he about faced, Jack's shoe hit something wet, and he fell, scrambling and sliding, to the floor.

Coffee. Jack didn't notice as blood mixed with the caffeinated fluid from a gash on his hand as he caught himself, slamming his palms into the broken shards that had once been a mug. His fuel was pure fear now, and he was back up and running in a heartbeat.

He looked in the living room, the bedroom…still nothing.

Suddenly, his ears picked up a hissing sound, and he wondered why he hadn't noticed it before. It was coming from the only room he hadn't checked yet.

The bathroom.

'Oh, God, no…' thought Jack , as his long legs carried him to the source of the sound. His mind was reeling with frightened imaginings of what he might find.

As it reached for the doorknob, Jack's hand hesitated, and his body ground to a screeching halt. His panicked search had led him here, but now he didn't know if he really wanted to see what might be behind the door.

Jack took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. He had no choice. He had to do this.

As the door slowly opened, Jack was hit with a rush of freezing air, and his knees buckled, sending him crashing to the hard tile floor. An anguished cry ripped its way out of Jack's chest, and he blindly crawled forward to the shower.

When his hand touched the plastic curtain, Jack ripped it back with a force that brought the whole thing clattering to the floor. As he untangled himself from the vinyl sheet, freezing cold water drenched him and everything else in the room. Jack hadn't thought to turn on the light, and the soft glow spilling in from the hallway only barely illuminated the small space.

It was more than enough for Jack to see his friend, though, and what he saw shattered him into a thousand pieces. It was like a spear made of equal parts pain and joy had been thrust though the Colonel's chest.

Daniel was alive!

He was rocking himself back and forth on the floor of the shower, the frigid water pouring over his naked body like a waterfall. His legs were bent up in front of him, and his arms wrapped themselves tightly around his knees. His hands and face were red and raw, his knuckles bleeding.

He didn't seem to notice Jack. His eyes were open, despite the onslaught from the water, but they were vacant, haunted, and unseeing. Occasionally, Daniel's mouth would move vaguely, but no sound came out.

Jack wanted to shout out his relief, but the state of his friend also hurt him more than anything he could imagine. Questions and guilt immediately began their assault. How could he have let this happen? Why hadn't he come sooner? Why hadn't he known? He had failed his friend, and now Daniel was paying the price.

Jack reached for the shower controls, turning off the water. He touched his friend, lightly, to let him know he was there. There was no response. Daniel's skin was ice cold and clammy. It felt thick, like some sort of gelatinous slime. Jack noticed then that Daniel's lips were the color of a calm spring sky; a shade of blue that would have been pretty in any other context, but that only served to heighten Jack's anxiety now.

A second surge of hormones brought O'Neill to his feet. He knew he had to get Daniel warm.

Jack hefted his friend out of the tub, slipping only a little on the wet floor, and set Daniel upright on the toilet seat. Daniel still did not respond in any way, and Jack was getting very, very worried.

Jack whipped two towels out of the rack on the wall, and started vigorously rubbing Daniel from head to toe. The bloodied hands got bloodier, and the raw skin chafed and reddened, but Jack didn't care.

He had to get Daniel dry and warm.

He had to…he had to…he had to…Jack was like a man possessed. He never stopped to think to call an ambulance or anything else. He just acted, no thought involved.

After several minutes of Jack's toweling, Daniel was dry. He was still freezing, but he was dry. Jack roughly ran a towel over Daniel's now spiky hair one more time, and was rewarded for his efforts with a blink and a slight hitch in Daniel's breathing.

Jack immediately knelt in front of his friend, his face only centimeters away from Daniel's.

"Daniel?"

No answer.

Jack repeated his question, louder this time. "DANIEL!"

Daniel seemed to suddenly notice Jack for the first time. His head moved backwards, away from the face in front of him. His eyes widened. He stopped breathing for a second, his face a mask of confusion and fear.

Jack knew his friend didn't recognize him. He shook the younger man's shoulders, hard, and looked him directly in the eyes. "Daniel, it's me. Jack. Jack O'Neill. Remember me?"

Daniel's expression didn't change for several long seconds, but gradually the light of recognition came into his eyes, and he found his voice. A weak, tortured whisper came from his lips.

"Jack?"

The single word started a thousand actions. Jack crushed Daniel to himself in a nearly bone-shattering embrace. He hugged his friend as if life itself depended on his grip.

Only after several seconds did Jack remember he was soaking wet. His hard work to dry his friend was getting undone. He let go of Daniel reluctantly, realizing his work wasn't finished.

Daniel was beginning to shiver violently, which Jack took as a good sign. Jack had spent enough time outdoors in Minnesota to know that you only shiver for a while. You stop when you get _really_ cold. Daniel's body had been so frozen it hadn't even known it needed to try to make heat before now.

As the shakes began in earnest, Jack did the only thing he could.

"Daniel? I'm going to go for a minute, ok? I'll be right back." Jack spoke as if he were comforting a sick child. He didn't need to, though. Daniel was already back in that world of comfortable numbness he had so briefly escaped. He didn't notice Jack leave. His eyes were vacant again, the light gone out of them.

Jack ran from the room, slipping a little on the water yet again.

He sprinted through the house, turning on every light, as if he could chase away the demons here with mere lamps. He found the thermostat and cranked it up. He threw back the blankets on Daniel's bed and quickly found some extras, adding them to the ones already there.

When he was done, Jack started back to the bathroom, stripping down to his somehow still dry underwear as he went.

There was only one way to warm Daniel. Jack had no pangs of self-consciousness about what he was about to do as he rounded the corner to retrieve his friend. He hoisted the shivering man into a fireman's carry, only then remembering that he'd been hit with a staff blast only a few days before. Jack gritted his teeth and ignored the pain in his side and abdomen as he carried Daniel down the short hallway to the bedroom. He threw his friend on the bed without ceremony and then ever-so-gently tucked Daniel under the covers, climbing in beside and behind him without thought.

Jack held Daniel against himself for what seemed like hours, willing the trembling to stop. Daniel had moments of near lucidity, in which he would mumble things like 'should have been me' and 'why her' and 'what did I do wrong' and 'I can't get clean', but mostly he just shivered.

The shivering slowly became less violent and less frequent, though, as Jack shared his body heat with his friend and massaged the younger man's muscles and blood back to a more normal temperature.

Finally, abruptly, the shaking stopped. It took Jack a second to realize that Daniel wasn't moving anymore. Jack's feet stopped their slow motions that had been attempting to warm Daniel's toes, and his ears listened hard for the sounds of Daniel's breath while his hand checked for a pulse.

The heartbeat was strong and regular. Daniel was breathing fine.

Jack's own heart skipped a beat then, as he suddenly realized Daniel was warm. His heart was beating, he was breathing, and he was _warm_.

A breath of relief escaped Jack then, gently cascading over Daniel's neck and shoulders.

"Jesus, Daniel…don't scare me like that."

At the sound of Jack's voice, Daniel started a little, flinching his shoulders in a little spasm.

Jack's stomach clenched into a small knot of nervousness as he realized the position he was in. If Daniel was conscious, he might find it disconcerting that Jack was spooned up against him, nearly as naked as the day he was born. Jack's voice carried a slight tremor when he next spoke.

"Daniel? You awake?"

Daniel's response was a confused whisper. "Jack?"

A steady voice answered him, calmly reassuring. "Yeah."

"What are you doing here?"

"Just came to check on you…seems you needed it…" Jack's voice died away then. He was remembering the condition in which he'd found his friend, and suddenly his insides lurched. He couldn't help thinking of what might have happened if he'd come by just a little bit later.

Daniel merely grunted in response. "Huh."

Anger flared up in Jack and replaced his nervousness and fear. He was royally pissed that Daniel would put himself in harm's way like this. Mad beyond belief that Daniel wouldn't reach out for help. That was Jack's MO, not Daniel's! What had Daniel been thinking? As these thoughts swirled around in Jack's head, another all-consuming rage was building on top of his already dark mood. What Daniel had recently experienced was enough to turn hardened combat veterans to oatmeal, and while Daniel had come a long way in the toughness department, he was still a gentle soul, and this type of thing hit him hard. Jack became overpoweringly enraged at himself for not seeing this coming. For not preventing it. Jack felt it was his job to look out for Daniel, no matter what, and he knew he'd failed miserably. Jack's rage found its way out of his body by taking control of his tongue, and Jack attacked Daniel with questions. "What the hell were you doing, Daniel? I find you in the shower cold as a fish, beat up, mumbling to yourself, not even noticing that the hot water ran out a long time ago…what's going on? Why didn't you call someone?"

Daniel only became more confused by the questioning, and he started to babble.

"I…um…I…Jack…?"

"Yeah, Daniel. I'm here. It's ok." Jack realized Daniel was still not fully aware of what had happened in the last few hours, and was probably still in a state of shock. His anger abated as quickly as it had come. Jack concentrated on comforting his friend. He could deal with the anger, and everything else, later.

Daniel was still mumbling to himself nonsensically. "Yeah…ok…"

Jack continued to speak softly to the younger man, and his hand involuntarily began to rhythmically stroke Daniel's hair, in an attempt to comfort him. "Ok, just rest, Danny…just rest. It's gonna be ok. Sh…just rest."

Daniel's body slowly relaxed as Jack's tenderness took effect. "Yeah…ok…oh, shit."

Jack was surprised by the curse. He pulled his hand away with a jerk. "What?"

"My house is a wreck, isn't it?"

Jack snorted a laugh. "Yeah, it kinda is, Dannyboy."

"Shit."

"Don't worry about it. We'll clean it up tomorrow. It'll be ok. I promise."

"Ok."

There was a long, quiet break then before Daniel sleepily murmured a question. "Jack?"

"Yeah, buddy?"

"You gonna be here all night?"

"Oh, yeah. I don't have anywhere to be but here."

Daniel's response was a hint of a whisper on a soft breath. "Thanks…"

Jack tightened his embrace, knowing beyond all doubt that he wasn't going anywhere anytime soon, and answered with a murmur of his own, as sleep claimed both men.

"Anytime, Daniel, anytime."


End file.
